Broken
by Lilyfish
Summary: Elizabeth marries James Norrington. He loves her dearly, but will she ever return the feeling? Angst, norribeth fluff. FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF!
1. Staring brown eyes

_Dedicated to the one and only James Norrington. You will live on in our hearts forever._

I awoke, but did not open my eyes. I didn't want this day to have arrived so soon, I wished I could have had another week or so of freedom. But there was no going back now, and I would soon be in the church, saying those two words that would bind me, trap me forever.

Estrella knocked at my door.

"Miss Swann, you must get ready!" she called. I groaned, and buried my head into the pillow, breathing in the warm smell. I would never lie on that pillow, this bed, ever again after last night. I slowly got up, and swung my legs onto the floor. Estrella entered, carrying the fateful dress. She laid it over the chair, and hovered hesitantly, waiting for me. I walked over to it, and ran my hand over the white silk. It was the first time I had seen the dress, on account of not wanting to see it before the wedding. I had preferred to hide my head in the sand, praying it was all a horrid nightmare, and that it would all go away. But as I looked down at the dress, I knew I could hide no longer. The full force of what was about to happen hit me like a battering ram. I swayed on the spot slightly. Estrella caught my arm, her face looking concerned. "Do you need to sit down Miss?" she asked gently. I shook my head dazedly.

"No, there isn't time. I don't want to be late." I said. But I did. I wanted to put it off for as long as possible. Stuff propriety, stuff my fiancé.

Estrella helped lace me into the dress. It was rather beautiful, and fit in all the right places. It was skin tight, with long sleeves, and flared out at the waist. Simplistic though it was, it was elegant. I sighed, and wished it was Will that would see me in it, rather than James.

I slowly descended the staircase, where my father was waiting for me. I saw his mouth gasp in delight, and I felt a tiny flame of happiness left over from the blazing fire Will had created.

"Elizabeth, you look beautiful" he whispered. "My little girl…all grown up" he offered me his proffered arm, and we made our way out to the carriage. I enjoyed the ride; it delayed the wedding further. I looked out the window at the passing streets. As we were passing the docks, I thought I saw Will, but I could not tell as the man's back was turned away from me.

We loomed ever closer to the church, and I silently bargained with God to slow time down, grant me a few moments of solace before the nuptials. But he did not heed my prayer, and all too soon, we arrived. I sat there, momentarily frozen. I didn't want this. I didn't want him. I started to hyperventilate, and shut my eyes. I pretended I was back at home, that none of this had ever happened. "Elizabeth! Do you feel ill? We must go inside now" came my father's panicky voice, jerking me from my reverie. I desperately clung to the bittersweet daydream, but the moment I opened my eyes it dissolved into a thousand long forgotten colours.

I stepped out of the carriage. The church steeple towered high above us in the Caribbean sunshine, glinting like a handful of crystals, majestic yet imposing at the same time. In my mind, I heard the distant chords of organ music. All I could think of was the heat, the shiny steeple, the tightness of my dress…

"Elizabeth!" came my father's voice again. I was dimly aware of him clasping my arm, and steering me into the church. It was a lot cooler in there, and my head began to stop swimming. I deliberately glued my eyes to the floor, and walked very slowly. My father tugged me along a little, but I subtly dragged my feet so that he was forced to keep pace with me. But church aisles can only be so long, and I was soon at the end of it. I didn't want to look up; I didn't want to see his face, lest my resolve wavered. My father let go of my arm, and for a very brief moment, I clung to him. I looked up then, and gave him a pleading look. He looked highly alarmed, seeing that his daughter was having second thoughts. He gave a barely perceptible shake of his head, extricated himself from my grasp, and stood to the side.

I turned to face my fiancé, and still I did not look up at him. But that didn't mean I couldn't feel his gaze burning on my downcast eyes, silently willing me to look at him. But I didn't.

The priest began to say the vows. I repeated them dully, barely aware that I was even saying them. I drifted off, and gazed up through the stained glass windows. The sunlight spilled through them into dozens of gemstone colours onto the flagstones. I smiled slightly, in spite of my black misery, as I watched them dance about on the floor.

Suddenly, the priest gave a loud cough. I jumped, and made the mistake of looking up. Of course, James's eyes glued to mine in an instant. He was looking at me questioningly, impatiently. I looked around at the congregation. They were all stared at me as well, some looking nervous, others looking curious. I stood there, stumped. Had I missed something?

"Er, should I repeat that?" queried the priest nervously. I looked at him blankly. "Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Ah, so that was it. Time for those two words, then. I opened my mouth, but found it was hideously dry; a combination of the heat and lack of water, no doubt.

Or maybe it was because I had just noticed Will standing at the back of the church, his warm brown eyes filled with tears.

I gasped, shocked that he was there. I glanced at James, who had noticed the same thing. His face fell, and he looked at me pleadingly.

"Elizabeth, please!" he whispered through the corner of his mouth.

The priest, having suddenly also noticed the impending disaster, said "I really must hurry you, Miss Swann".

I felt as though my heart were breaking, as I forced myself to rip my gaze from the only man I had ever loved.

"I do" I whispered, the tears flowing freely down my face. James let out a small sigh of relief, and his face broke into a gentle smile.

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride" said the priest. At the final part, my heart did a horrified back flip, and I looked uncertainly up at James. He bent towards me, his lips barely brushing mine. It was over in a flash. I relaxed a little then, despite the fact I knew there would be worse to come that night…


	2. Don't leave me

The wedding reception was at James's house. I was silent throughout the whole carriage ride with him, twiddling my fingers in my lap and gazing fixedly out the window. He attempted to make conversation once or twice, but I could only nod, for I knew I would start crying if I spoke. The memory of Will, standing at the back of the church, filled my head. I felt the sting of guilt pinch at the back of my mind, cruel and unrelenting.

We arrived at my new home. I had seen it many a time throughout my childhood, but I'd never thought I'd end living here. It was a sizable house, bright and airy, and the picket fence was entwined with white and red roses in honour of the occasion.

"The roses, they're lovely" I exclaimed, forgetting my misery for a moment. James beamed at me, and nodded.

"I knew they were your favourite flower" he said, pleased that my mood had changed, albeit only for a brief second. "Shall we go through to the back garden? The other guests will be there" he suggested, holding the gate open for me.

We walked through the house, the sound of the ticking grandfather clock stirring memories from my childhood. I remembered the many times father and I had been here for dinner, and James opening the clock up and showing me how it all worked. I had been fascinated by all the little cogs and wheels, and he had patiently explained the job of each one.

My father was in the garden with the other guests, and bumbled forward to congratulate us. He shook James's hand vigorously, then turned to me. His eyes were watery with suppressed emotion.

"I am so proud of you, Elizabeth" he whispered, taking my hands.

"Thank you" I replied softly, wishing he had been this supportive of Will.

We spent the rest of the day being congratulated by the other guests, and, as each one approached, I would paste on a false smile, and thank them graciously. But all the while, my heart felt as though it were weeping; weeping blood.

The food was perfect; James had remembered all my favourite dishes. He even remembered how I liked the strawberries dipped in white chocolate. I did not feel like eating anything, but as I didn't want to hurt his feelings, I dutifully had a little from every dish. By the end of it all, my stomach was churning.

"Time to cut the cake" came a voice from one of the guests. I gave an imperceptible grimace, but it was promptly wiped off my face when I saw the cake. It wasn't particularly large, but the icing was arranged in a beautifully intricate pattern. Roses again, I noticed with a small smile.

"Shall we?" asked James. I nodded, and reluctantly placed my hand very lightly over his.

It tasted nice enough, but no different to how any ordinary wedding cake should taste. I caught James's eye, and felt myself blushing. It was ridiculous; I'd known him all my life! Except maybe things had changed between us a bit; we were married now, after all.

As the afternoon melted into evening, the guests started to leave, one by one. Soon it was only James, my father and I. Servants that had been hired for the occasion scuttled about, clearing the food and tables away. The sun was just starting to set, sending out beautiful pink rays across the sky. The garden overlooked the sea, and I stood there, admiring the way the many colours were reflected on the ocean. A seagull drifted lazily on the breeze, his snow white wings flapping every now and then to prevent falling.

"Elizabeth?" came my father's voice. He had been talking to James a few feet away from me, and now stood at my side, a worried look on his face. "I must go now…I trust you will be alright?" he asked, suddenly appearing upset about losing me. I could have scoffed in his face; it was a bit late now. But instead I forced my mouth into the same smile I had been doing all afternoon.

"I'll be fine, father. But you will visit tomorrow?" I asked, keeping my voice level and pleasant. I didn't want him to know how I truly felt, how badly I didn't want him to leave me.

"Of course, of course" he said. He cleared his throat, and nodded at James. "Take care of her" he said shortly.

"I'll show you out, Governor" said James, leading my father away from me; the last of my childhood, the last of my old life.

"Daddy" I whispered brokenly, my voice choked with pain. I turned to look out over the sea again, determined that no one but the sea gull should be witness to my tears. The grass on the cliff top nearby swayed slightly in the breeze. The air was growing cooler; making way for nightfall.

A few moments later, I heard footsteps on the patio. I turned to see James, his face a mask of awkwardness.

"Do you want to go inside?" he asked hesitantly. I turned back to the sea, watching the last dieing rays.

"I'll come in in a moment" I replied.

I stood for a while longer, and gave a small gasp of delight. A group of dolphins were leaping along the shore, their blue-grey fins glistening with sea water. "If only I were free like you" I murmured sadly.

_A/N: Aaarrgghh I keep putting off the wedding night. I've never done M-rated before!! If someone could give me some tips, I would be eternally grateful!__ I don't want to do anything too smutty- just sweet._


	3. Knotted heart

James was waiting in the living room for me, sat comfortably on one of the green sofas. He looked up at me and smiled.

"Is there anything you'd like before bed? I can get the maid to make you a heated drink if you want" he said tentatively. I perched on the sofa just across from him.

"No, but thank you for offering" I said, hoping he would not detect the tremor in my voice. The dying light outside lit up the corner of the room, illuminating a chess set, dusty from years of neglect. "We could always play chess" I said hopefully, gesturing to the dusty chess set in the corner. James had taught me to play when I was younger, but I had yet to beat him.

He stared at me in surprise. "Chess?" he asked, looking slightly bemused at the idea.

"Yes, I'm determined to win for once" I said, grinning. He took note of the challenge in my voice, and his face also broke into a smile.

"Let's see if you've gotten any better since I taught you" he said, picking up the set from the corner and placing it on the low table between us. He began to set up the pieces. "White or black" he asked me.

"White" I replied swiftly. It seemed fitting enough; it was my wedding day, after all.

"Right. Your move first then" he said.

He beat me, as per usual. I had a sneaking feeling that he had gone easy on me though; there was no other way I could have captured his queen. By now, the sky had merged into an inky black, the first early stars twinkling shyly like little diamonds.

"Well played" he commented "you're getting better".

"You're just saying that" I retorted with a laugh. He got up to close the curtains.

"Are you tired?" he asked gently.

I was, but I didn't want him to know that. I stifled a yawn, and smiled brightly up at him.

"Not particularly. We could always play another match" I said, determined to put off going to bed for as long as possible. It was like I was a child again; I had hated bedtimes and the like, and had pleaded with my governess to let me stay up each night. But I couldn't ask for a bedtime story tonight.

"No, I think it would be better if we retired" he said, bending down to pack away the game. His hand brushed mine in the process, making my breath catch slightly. "I'll give you a minute, shall I?" he asked softly. I nodded, knowing I was fighting a losing battle. I turned to go upstairs, when I remembered that I didn't know where the bedroom was.

"Where do I sleep?" I asked nervously.

"The first room on the left; you can't miss it" he said "my house isn't quite as big as the governor's mansion" he added, with a good natured laugh. I smiled forcedly in response, and went upstairs.

As he had promised, I found the room quite easily. I stood on the threshold, taking it in. It was simply decorated, more for a male than a female. There were paintings of ships hanging from the walls, and James's ceremonial sword lay sheathed on the writing desk. I went over to it, and ran my fingers lightly along the hilt, playing with the gold filigree at the end.

A maid had unpacked my possessions earlier, and arranged them neatly in a wardrobe. I rummaged through and found my nightshift. Looking around, I could see James had added a few feminine touches for my sake; a mirror and dressing table stood next to the wardrobe. A jar of flowers stood on the windowsill, their heady fragrance filling the room. Though I was touched by these small acts of kindness, it could never make up for the loss of Will.

I realised I needed a maid to help me out of my dress. I stood there for a moment, wondering what to do. I didn't want to ask James; I was too embarrassed. So I bent my arm round, and fiddled with the bindings at the back. They were stuck fast. I tried looking in the mirror as I did it, but as I twisted my head round, my back twisted too and I couldn't see what I was doing. I gave a little cry of frustration, and sat down dejectedly on the bed.

"Elizabeth? Are you ok?" came James's voice from the door, making me jump. I whipped my head round sharply, causing my neck to click.

"Ouch" I mumbled crossly, rubbing it. James hovered uncertainly at the doorway. I realised with a sinking heart that I probably looked a right sight; my hair was coming out of its pins with a few honey brown tendrils trailing down my shoulder, and my stays were half undone.

"Should I fetch Maria to help you undress?" he asked in concern. I gave a little groan, and buried my head miserably in the pillow. Tonight was going worse than I had anticipated. If only Will….no. I commanded myself not to think about him, but it was already too late. I gave a little sob of despair, my eyes filling up with salty tears. I heard James come over and sit down on the bed.

"Sshh…" he murmured gently, stroking my hair. I felt my entire body tense up at his touch. I turned my head slightly and looked up at him. His green eyes were wracked with pain at the sight of me in such a state.

"I'm sorry" I whispered sadly, letting the cool pillow sooth my face. I stared out of the window into the darkness. I couldn't see the ocean, but I could hear it. The waves made a soothing noise as they lapped over the stones on the beach; rather like a lullaby.

"Do you want me to close the window?" he asked.

"No, leave it open…" I said softly, my voice trailing off. James got up and switched the main light off, leaving just the two oil lamps on either side of the bed shining softly, bathing the room in a golden glow.

"I'll help you with your dress" he said, sitting down next to me again. He meant nothing by it, only that he wanted to help me. I did not say anything; I was so tired of resistance. I felt his gentle hands brush my skin as he unthreaded the cords holding my dress together, caressing my back.

"Thank you" I said awkwardly, sitting up once he was done. My voice was bland and emotionless. I bent down to pick up my nightshift, which had fallen down by the bed in my fit of despair. I peeled off the dress, not caring if he saw me or not. I pulled on the nightshift and lay back down, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes.

"I'm proud of you" he said suddenly. I looked up at him, wondering what on earth I had done this time. "It hasn't been an easy day for you, not in the slightest" he continued, taking my hand.

"What makes you say that?" I asked, playing the fool. He sighed, and ran a finger gently across my cheek.

"It doesn't matter now, I suppose" he conceded. "But you know I will always love you, don't you?"

I blushed again. I knew full well that he loved me, but no matter how hard I tried, I didn't think I would ever be able to love him in return. "Why are you blushing?" he asked, with a small laugh, lightening the atmosphere considerably.

"Oh, I don't know" I said with a sigh "I guess I just never expected things to be like this"

"Don't be embarrassed around me" he said quietly.

"I'll try not to be" I said, propping myself up on the pillow. "I'm just…"

"What?" he pressed gently.

"Scared" I said, in a small voice. His eyes widened slightly at this, and he leant in to kiss my forehead, his lips barely brushing my skin.

"You haven't got anything to be scared of" he whispered, his lips still hovering over my forehead. Though his eyes were filled with tenderness, I could detect a hint of desire in them. I wanted to get up and run, but my legs felt as though they were made from lead. "I promise I won't hurt you" he said, hands pressing gently upon my shoulders for me to lie down. His lips trailed down from my forehead, catching my own.

The kiss he offered was quite unlike the one at the altar, which had been cool and detached. This one was different; warm and loving. Without even realising it, I found myself responding to the kiss. It offered so much comfort after the miserable day, and my cold, broken heart began to warm again. I lay down on the pillows, his arms wrapped around me carefully, as though he sensed I might break if he held me too tight. His mouth was so warm and inviting, distracting me completely from anything else, and I tried to keep my mind firmly blank as I felt his hand push my shift up.

I felt him press on me, and he looked into my eyes, as though requesting permission to continue. I gave a slightly fearful nod, and he pressed down harder. It hurt at first, though he tried to be gentle. But as he went on, an entirely different, alien sensation started to tingle through my body. I found myself clinging to him tighter than before, wanting him all at once. He checked at this, surprised by my acceptance, but I pulled him back down for another kiss. I had never thought that this strict naval officer would be capable of such a passionate embrace; but discovered I was grateful for it.

Soon I found that the feeling going through me was growing unbearable, and his skin felt so hot against mine. I gasped aloud, and he whispered my name over and over in my ear, his breath as ragged as my own. I gave a tiny cry, clawing at his back and burying my face in his neck.

He followed suit, and sighed, trailing dozens of kisses over me.

"I love you" he whispered, his voice tired yet content. He kissed my lips again, softly.

Now, at the absence of the pleasure from before, it began to dawn on me what had just passed between us. I moved under him, trying to sit up. Noticing this, he quickly moved off me. I sat up, horribly conscious of my nakedness. Grabbing my nightshift, I pulled it quickly on, my hands shaking and my heart pounding. I avoided looking at him, and lay at the very edge of the bed, pulling the covers right up to my chin. I shut my eyes, pretending to be asleep.

I heard him reach over me to turn the oil lamp off, then turning off the one on his side. He lay down next to me, and as soon as his breathing was deep and even from sleep, I got up and sat by the window. Dressed only in my thin linen nightshift, I grew bitterly cold. But it was nothing compared to the icy spear that had plunged its way through my heart. I cuddled my knees, and cried silently, the silvery moon bathing the tears on my face.

"I'm sorry Will" I whispered, utterly broken. "I'm so, so sorry".

_A/N: Well there you have it folks, my first M-rated scene. So, did it fly or did it flop? I still can't believe I just wrote that. hiccup._


	4. Rubies and Tea

I must have fallen asleep at the open window. It was still night, and I was very tired when I awoke, but an adrenaline rush kick started my system.

I was leant precariously over the edge, with just the curtain preventing me from plummeting from my death. Drawing a shaky breath, I pulled back sharply, closing the window softly so as not to wake James. He stirred a little, but his breathing remained deep and even. I wasn't keen on getting back into bed, but I knew he would think me rather odd if he found me asleep on the floor. I padded quietly over, and carefully pulled the covers back. I lay down, enjoying the warmth from his body; a sharp contrast to the chilly windowsill. I watched him in his slumber; a peaceful expression on his face. His torso was bare, and I found myself taking his hand in mine, tracing the rough calluses that were the result of years of working on a ship.

I opened my eyes a few hours later, squinting as lemony flares of light filtered through the curtains, threatening to burn my eyelids. James was already awake, sitting up against the pillows with a cup of tea. He gave a gentle smile when he saw I was awake.

"Maria brought some tea up, would you like some?" he asked. I blinked blearily, trying to dispel my sleepy thoughts.

"I…is it morning already?" I asked, having no recollection of falling asleep. James laughed.

"Yes sweetheart. Are you still tired?"

"A little" I murmured. I wondered why; it wasn't very early. Then I remembered the night before. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks, my throat growing dry. "Yes, tea would be nice, thank you" I said in a half whisper. I wanted to bury my head under the covers and hide my flaming face away, though it was obvious he had already seen it. James carefully passed me a cup of tea.

"Are you ok?" he asked softly.

"Fine" I said, a little too quick to be plausible. I stared fiercely at the floor, wishing it would swallow me up. I tried sipping my tea to divert my embarrassment, but it served as a pitiful distraction.

"I'll be needing to go down to the docks soon. Do you have any plans for today?" he asked, clearly thinking it was best to ignore my cherry red face.

"I..um, think I'll visit father" I said hurriedly, blurting out the first thing that popped into my head.

"Well, send him my regards" said James, with his usual serene politeness. He placed his empty cup back onto the saucer with a soft clink, and got out of bed. "I'll just have a quick wash, I'll come and say goodbye in a minute" he said. I watched him go into the adjoining bathroom and shut the door behind him. I relaxed, for I had been tense the entire time.

Looking down at my untouched tea, I saw a glimpse of my watery reflection; not much, just an eye or so. I felt a sudden rush of violent disgust at the sight of myself, and set the tea down beside me. I put it down a little too hard, for a bit of tea splashed over the side. I sighed, and stared out of the window, wondering what my life had come to. I felt like a cheater; a whore.

I got out of bed and drew the curtains back, allowing the dawn light to flood the room. My surroundings took on a refreshing hue, and I cheered up a fraction. Looking over at the spilt tea, I set about mopping it up with the sleeve of my nightshift, causing it to become soggy and golden in appearance. I gave it a vague shake, my lips upturned in an odd half-smile. Unfortunately, the teacup happened to be within the vincity of my arm at the time, and it fell to the floor with a loud shatter.

Upon hearing the noise, James poked his head around the bathroom door. He looked as though I had interrupted his shirt buttoning, as a couple were done up skew-if. He looked down at the smashed cup, the carpet greedily absorbing its contents.

"Sorry" I said in a small voice.

"Whoops" he said, with a small laugh. "Don't worry about it sweetheart"

He went back to getting ready and I immediately swooped down and started to gather up the broken shards. I pricked my finger in the process, a drop of ruby blood oozing from the cut. I stared at it, fixated, as it slid down my finger and onto one of the shards.

"I'm going now" came James's voice, emerging from the bathroom, dressed in his usual pristine attire. He shook his head at the sight of my finger. "What am I going to do with you?" he said, bending down beside me. He took my hand, and kissed the cut softly, his lips lingering over it. "Run it under the tap, it'll stop the bleeding" he said, patting my hand gently. "I'll see you later darling" he said, rising to his feet. "I'll send Maria up to clear the china away"

I tried to muster a smile of gratitude, but failed miserably.


	5. Isolation

I heard the door close softly, signalling his departure. I was still sat amongst the broken pieces of china, the carpet soggy from the spilt tea. Though he had said he'd send Maria to clean it away, I decided to make a start on it myself. I picked them up carefully, making sure not to cut my hands this time.

After I had collected them up, I took them downstairs to kitchen. Maria, James's maid, was dusting the top shelves in an absent minded fashion. I cleared my throat nervously, causing her to turn. She smiled when she saw me, and nodded at the smashed crockery.

"Ah yes, I was about to come and clear that up" she said, taking the pieces from me. "It was most considerate of you, Madam, thank you". I checked slightly at my new address; I had been so used to 'Miss'. It was amazing how much changed in a simple ceremony.

"It wasn't any problem" I said quickly, subtly covering up my injured hand. Maria nodded, and went back to dusting. I dithered in the kitchen; at a loose end of what to do with myself. Maria noticed the uncertain expression on my face.

"The Admiral said you were going to visit your father today" she prompted me.

"Oh yes" I said with a start, the memory returning to me. "I should want to go soon, if that isn't a problem" I continued, referring to the fact I was still in my nightshift. Maria's eyes dawned in understanding.

"Oh yes, I'll come and help you dress" she said.

Once I was ready, Maria offered to call for a carriage to take me to my…no, _father's _house, I lived here now. I declined, commenting on what a lovely day it was outside and that I wanted to feel the sun on my face. Maria looked uncertain.

"Are you sure? It would be much quicker, and safer, if you were to take the carriage.

"No, no" I said quickly, slipping out the door as fast as possible. I didn't think I could bear being cooped up again. I needed to breathe fresh air; I needed to think.

As I wandered along the sea front, I found myself incapable of keeping my gaze from the ocean. Will would be out there somewhere. Was he thinking of me? I bit my lip hard, forcing the moisture from my eyes. It didn't do to cry now. I was married, and nothing was going to change it.

When I reached my old home, a curious wave of emotions hit me. It seemed so strange that I was never going to live here again. As a servant led me along the corridor, I recalled all the times of my childhood. We passed the dance hall, and I remembered how my sixteenth birthday had been held there; James had danced with me for the first time. He'd been so kind, so considerate.

"Elizabeth!" came my father's voice. He was crossing the dance hall, his face a picture of happiness. "How are you?"

"No different from yesterday" I answered blandly. My father surveyed be worriedly. I suppose I didn't exactly look my happiest self.

"And...James?" he queried hesitantly.

"Fine as well" I answered, subconsiously fingering my wedding ring. It was like a burden; an ever increasing weight.

I spent the rest of the afternoon with my father, the conversation between us wearing ever thin. I just didn't know what to say anymore. I felt as though I'd descended into a shade of my former self; a shadow.

Finally, at five o clock, I decided I might as well end the pointless visit.

"I have to go. James will be back" I mumbled, staring at my clasped hands in my lap. My father nodded.

"I suppose that's the best thing to do" he agreed. "Shall I see you out?" he asked, half rising from his wicker chair.

"No, I'll be fine" I reassured him. He sat down again, looking a little disappointed.

Outside, the sun had turned the sky a shade of deep amber. The clouds glowed, irridescent, above the water. I stared down at the dock, as I watched the Dauntless moor at the jetty. I could make out Jame's figure among the other officers as they disembarked. I waited for him, and when he saw me, his face broke into a smile. I made my best attempt to smile back, as he broke his conversation with Gillette to come over to me. I nodded shyly at him, feeling my throat twist into a nervous knot. I didn't know what to say to him.

"Your hand's better" he noted wryly. Again, I nodded. I was beginning to feel rather stupid, and broke our eye contact as I found myself blushing. Again. Instead I stared at my bandaged hand. "I was wondering if you wanted to eat out at a restaurant tonight?" he suggested carefully. "Would that cheer you up?"

I bit my lip. I hadn't intended for him to see that I was upset.

"If that's what you want" I said finally. He eyed me worriedly, his green gaze sweeping my face, trying to work out my thoughts.

"We could always go for a walk first" he suggested, gesturing to the beach. "It's a lovely sunset"

He held out his hand for me to take. I slipped mine into his, and it closed over mine, soothing the wound from earlier.

"I'll rebandage it when we get home, if you like" he said gently. I smiled quickly, as we headed down to the beach, the sun reflecting on the sword at his waist.

A/N: Sorry for the slow update- I've been sooo busy with my book! Please review ;)


	6. Trigger for execution

_It shouldn't be this awkward_ I thought, as my feet sank into the damp sand alongside my new husband's.

I had only to recall a year ago to know this was the wrong atmosphere. Back then, we'd talk well into the night about a vast array of matters; be it the politics back in England or what polish James used on his sword. My father often had to ask to him to leave; else I would have been seriously deprived of sleep. However, I wouldn't have minded that. James was a fascinating man, his stories of pirates and maelstroms both intoxicating and addicting. I became his insatiable listener, hanging onto his every syllable as the pirates in his tales clutched the noose on their necks before the trapdoor fell.

And, oh my, did it fall. Not just for the pirates, but for me also.

I should have been more wary. Fate's invisible hand was looping the rope around my neck the whole time; I could see it reflected in James's eyes. My every breath, my every blink, had him staring in intrigue.

Maybe it was the constant invitations to tea that I sent him. I, an innocent girl, had only wanted to hear stories of oceans and faraway lands.

He, on the other hand, must have made quite a different interpretation.

One balmy evening in May, not quite hot and not quite cold, we were sat out on the balcony. The previous night had unleashed a storm of epic proportions, and my mind had been elsewhere for once, pondering how father would fix one of our now storm-shattered garden statues. It was his favoured one, too, a pretty horse formed from black marble. If only the left side of the head weren't so badly damaged…

James said something or other. I'd shaken my head vaguely, not knowing what I'd agreed to. Whatever it had been, he had looked very happy indeed. Well, happy did not seem to cover it. He had beamed at me. I blinked back, forcing myself to smile as well, my mind still mostly on the statue. He'd gotten up to leave, and as usual, he'd kissed my hand; it was the polite thing to do after all. But his lips were there a fraction longer, and the look in his green eyes had been so intense. Much too intense for a friend. It was the flaming look he had in his eyes when the trap door fell. When a particularly fiendish pirate met his swinging, groundless end.

The next day had followed with his promotion ceremony. Cue wedding proposal afterwards, and I had no way of backing out.

I didn't have the nerve to ask James what he'd said on the balcony.

But that was then. This was now. Surely it would do no harm to ask; we were married now anyway. It wasn't like I could change that. By law I was his property. What a peculiar thought. I belonged to _James…_

As we strolled along the beach, I pondered how I would ask him. There was too much silence to subtly 'slip' it into a conversation.

"James?" I began. His eyes locked on mine in an instant, emanating gratitude for a lapse in the silence.

"Yes, Elizabeth?"

He was speaking too fast, too formally. This was all so _wrong. _

"That day before your promotion, when we were on my balcony" I said, my stomach coiling as though I were about to jump into a black abyss; I couldn't see what was at the bottom. "You asked me something, and I don't think I heard. What was it?"

With no other conversation in the air, my words hung nakedly with nothing to hide behind; nothing to blend into. They convulsed nervously, awaiting his reaction.

James abruptly looked away, his forehead creased into deep rivulets.

"I have forgotten" he said simply.

The tension around us slackened somewhat. The mauve sky was dotted with distant seabirds, hanging over ships that lay far out to sea. I dimly wondered what it felt like, to have that kind of power to go where one willed. To get _the_ _answers one wanted._

We went home.

James, true to his word, changed the bandage around my hand.

I watched as he cleaned the now congealed blood from the wound. Night encroached rapidly around the house, but he did not pause to put any lights on. Maria appeared briefly over the fire place, lighting a tiny fire that gave out barely a shadow of brightness.

She left swiftly.

James continued to work as meticulously as ever, his eyes dark with intent as he focused on the cut. And all the while my curiosity was simmering away, in a similar fashion to the fire in the grate; what little there was of it was bright and hot.

James finished cleaning the cut and tossed the cloth into the little steel basin of water beside him. I gazed as the bloody cloth slowly turned the water crimson, clouds of magenta blossoming outwards and smothering the last of the clear liquid. There was something morbidly fascinating about it that I could not put my finger on. I turned away, feeling abruptly sickened.

James was looking at the fire broodingly now. He had not said a word since I'd asked him the question. The flames flickered lazily, colouring the now blackish water a fierce dark orange. My longing for an answer jabbed at my insides viciously. What was so awful that he had to keep from me?

I placed my newly bandaged hand in the crease of his elbow. He stiffened, still not looking from the fire.

"Please" I breathed, running my hand up to his shoulder, then further still to his neck.

"There is nothing to tell" he replied in a rushed whisper. His voice was repentant; ashamed. He closed his eyes and pressed my hand flush to his skin, kissing the tips of my fingers. I did not draw them away, and allowed him to pull me into a closer embrace.

"Yes there is" I murmured softly, running my fingers over his lips, willing him to speak what he was so afraid of divulging. The look in his eyes weakened at my pleading.

"I…asked you...only as a curious friend…" he stammered.

"Mm" I mumbled, prompting him to continue, still stroking his face. His expression at my forthright behaviour told me he didn't have a prayer of resistance left in him.

"I asked you…whether you ever loved Turner"

_A/N: MY BOOK IS FINISHED!! So I finally had a spare moment to update this story. I know some of the stuff is a little stilted__, but it was written at 1am and I was wired high on caffeine…_


	7. You are in a different world to me

"Let's run

Broken- Chap 7

"_Let's run!"_

"_To the top of the hill? But look at the clouds!" exclaimed Will. He raised one eyebrow at me. "Your dress would be ruined"_

_I smirked, twisting my fingers around his. "Like you care" I said sardonically. He shrugged, glancing warily at the iridescent pearls that glimmered at my collar. _

"_Must've cost a fortune" he muttered darkly. "What I wouldn't give to have that kind of money to throw away. One of the new French fashions, am I right?"_

_I twirled happily. "Straight all the way from Paris"_

"_On special order no doubt" Will laughed lightly, looking up at me from the sofa, his brown eyes glittering. "For the governor's daughter only, of course"_

_A foreboding roll of thunder trembled across the pewter sky, sending shivers of delight through my body. Will poked his head out of the window, a plump raindrop trailing down his nose. Another followed, and soon white water was slanting rapidly from the sky, tiny estuaries and rivers meandering through the flagstones. Will shut the window abruptly. _

"_I'm not going out in that" he said firmly. "We'll both drown!"_

"_What difference does it make to the sea storms?" I teased, pulling him to his feet._

"_Lizzy, you can't be serious-" Will yelped, as I wrenched the patio doors open. I darted outwards, splashing into the largest puddle I could see. The creamy satin of my dress merged into a disgruntled brown. _

"_It can't be ruined much more" I said smugly. Will was staring at me, wide eyed. _

"_Race you" I challenged, backing further out into the rain. He grinned impishly, having never been one to refuse a challenge. He placed one foot tentatively outwards, the laces of his shoe drooping wimpily as they soaked up the surrounding water. I shot off immediately, running up the hill, laughing all the way. _

_Rain plastered my face, gelling my eyelashes together so that it became hard to see. The sky turned from steely to a coal colour, nearer to an angry black than grey. Will let out a shout as the rain turned heavier, but he plundered on relentlessly, determined not to lose. _

_He caught up with me swiftly, catching me round the waist. We reached the top of the hill together._

"_That was a draw" he said decisively against my damp hair. _

"_I bet you wish you'd brought your parasol" I giggled. _

_He did not answer. We both stared upwards as the heavens upturned themselves on our heads. The palm trees down by the docks rocked to and fro in the humid Caribbean wind, their dark green leaves blending oddly with the blue-grey of the storm tossed ocean behind. I sifted through the scents in the air to my favourite one. Damp soil, rich and earthy tinged with sea salt. I lay further back into Will's arms, looking for something to say. I tasted each word on the tip of my tongue before swallowing it back down again. The moment was fine as it was, with just the sound of torrenting water from above…_

I can remember that day with the clarity of crystal. It shines out from all the rest in my mind, hard and glittering. It was two days before the wedding proposal from James.

He let me sleep in the guest bedroom tonight. I could stand the silence a little better than his voice, his breathing.

I lay there in the darkness, my hands taut and clenched at my sides. Nothing mattered anymore.

A tinkling noise emanated from downstairs. I let out a dry sob and forced myself to ignore whatever it was. It continued; similar to that of a wind chime, yet more substantial. My ears, disobedient to the commands of my mind, sought out the sound and tried to interpret it.

It was coming from the drawing room.

James had said never to go in there. I sat up properly, tense and alert. Was there a burglar in the house?

I struck a match, orange light billowing up into a single flame. I placed it hastily onto an old broken candle, the wax crumbling with age.

I held my makeshift lamp aloft. It cast the room in frightening shadows, forcing me to bear witness to a grotesque puppet show.

I inched my door open, a wheezy creak shuddering through the hinges. The tinkling noise grew louder as I padded along the green velvet carpet to the drawing room. As I listened, I realised it was more complex than I had first assumed. I poked the door open a fraction.

It was dark in there, but as my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, they detected the faint bluish light typical to the Jamaican night, shimmering through the heavy curtains at the back. The bolts of moonshine illuminated a large black shadow. Too large to be a person. The tinkling noise continued to drift up from it, and it was only the sound that finally told me what it was. A piano.

I stole into the room very softly, the door closing behind me with barely the shade of a whisper.

James was sitting there, his hands flowing over the ivories with an intent I had never seen in him before. I shrank into the shadows, watching him. The tune had a melancholy hint to it, hanging in the air like a long lost friend. It sounded like raindrops, dripping sporadically onto the roses of our front garden.

I couldn't help but stare. I'd never seen him play before, and my heart seized up in a way that was alien to me. He had said his father used to teach him…only he had stopped playing when the man died.

As the song flowed, so did my emotions. I felt impossibly lonely, and a cold, dead weight caged my mind into a black abyss of silence. I saw my life bare and frozen; a life without music. A dead life. I wanted to reach out to the notes that claimed the air, draw on some degree of warmth-

The piano lid banged shut. A lump formed in my throat like granite, as the warmth vanished as though it were little more than a flurry of mist.

"That song wasn't for you" he growled quietly. "Get out"


	8. Poison Apple

I pretended to be asleep the next morning. I was still in the guest room, and heard the door creak as he checked on me before going down to the docks. I felt the bed shift a little as he sat on the edge of it. A cool hand brushed over my forehead, running along my lashes.

"_Will…" _the name leapt unbidden from my lips. I wished it were true. The hand faltered, then left my forehead altogether, only to be replaced by a warm kiss, sincere and welcoming. I stayed in my dark retreat, my eyelids still defiantly shut. Footsteps faded, and I heard the door close.

I sat up, running a hand anxiously through my hair. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I was a mess. Purple, bruise-like shadows were smeared beneath my eyes. I looked thinner, more sallow. The only thing bright in the reflection was my eyes. My bony face made them look bigger somehow, and they darted about with a hunted, freakish gaze. That gaze was not the one I knew. I hissed reflexively at the stranger in the mirror. I stood up then, a wave of exhaustion crippling me. It was like all the sleep had been sapped from me by the music. I needed to eat.

I had Maria make me breakfast. I ate more than usual, my hands trembling as I poured syrup over my seventh pancake. I was still hungry, but suddenly nausea washed over me. The hand I had on the syrup jug shook violently, drenching the pancake completely. It dripped nastily over the table. I stared at it absently, shivering.

"Would you like a fire put on, Madam?" asked Maria, hastily clearing away the pancake. I nodded.

"I'll have it in the living room" I mumbled.

"Of course, Madam"

I curled up on the sofa, a thick rug pulled right up to my chin. But it didn't stop my teeth chattering. Strangely, the sun outside was blaring at full strength. I watched it blearily. Everything outside was so warm. In here it was like a black sun shone.

"_Will…Will…Will" _I mumbled the name to a familiar tune. I slipped out of consciousness, the tune reverberating in the back of my mind.

_Yo ho yo ho…a pirate's life for me…drink up me hearties…and really bad eggs_

_Jack. Where is he now…?_

"Madam? Elizabeth! Oh god, help, HELP!"

"No!"

"She's not…she's not…Elizabeth darling!"

"I can't hear anything"

"There! Feel here-"

"That's a heartbeat? Thank the heavens!"

I opened my eyes. All I could see was red. I whimpered, my hand fluttering up to my face.

"Leave it, sweetheart" came the voice of my husband.

"What's happening to me?" I cried. My breath accelerated. "I can't see!"

"You're ill. Ssh…go to sleep" he whispered against my hair. His arms were shaking, and I could feel tears.

"What's wrong with me?" I choked, the red still not dispelling itself.

"Sleep, Elizabeth. Please sleep"

I could not understand why he did not answer my question.

"I want Will. Get Will"

No answer. Only his arms, tight around me. I felt suffocated, though I could breathe fine.

"Will you be taking leave off work, Sir?"

Now it was the voice of Lieutenant Gillette.

"I can't leave her like this" whispered James.

"I understand, Sir" came the reply. I did not like the tone of his voice. It was a mourning voice. A funeral voice.

"Am I dead?" I asked. There was a long pause.

'No. No my love…"

His cool hand was on my forehead again, stroking too fast. The speed made me panicky.

"Please tell me why everything is red"

_A/N: I know things all seem a bit random at the moment but FEAR NOT- this all has a direction, I promise._


	9. I'll wake, I'll sleep

The air was musky. I had been sleeping for a while…it was hard to think straight. I coughed.

Immediately, someone was at my side. Cool kisses slipped over my eyes and lips.

"You're awake." James' voice was branded with an agonized relief.

"I am…?"

"Yes, yes. Try and look at me," he urged.

I felt for my eyelids. They pulsed stupidly, and I waited for that hellish flash of red.

Instead I got a somewhat blurred view of James, sitting at the edge if the bed. He looked harrowed and weary, dried salt trails lacing his cheeks. I tried to move, but acute pain reverberated in my skull. I gasped aloud.

"Stay still," he pleaded. He took my hand and held it to his lips, staring out of the window. "My angel…" he murmured vacantly, more to himself.

"What happened to me?" I asked, the question coming out inevitably clichéd.

"I…" James ran a free hand along the bed coverlet. "We're not entirely sure."

"Liar," I muttered, strangely resentful. He looked up at me then, eyes stinging with hurt.

"The physician thinks it was a stroke," he said after a moment. _(AN: Not sure if they knew what strokes were back then, if not, sorry for historical and medical crapuracy!)_

"You...I don't-" I began.

"A blood vessel-"

"_I know what it is!" _I spluttered, suddenly feeling hysterical. Tears were welling in my eyes; tears of confusion. I was too young for this! Grandfather…he'd been old…lost movement of the left side of his face…

I burst into a fresh set of tears, which of course sent the pain in my head to giddy heights. I stopped and groped at my forehead, keening incoherently. James allowed me to collapse into his lap.

"Oh help, help me," I babbled. James soothed me with meaningless murmurings. I sat up. "Oh-"

Nausea made me see double. I crashed to the floor and scrabbled to the bathroom, the pain in my head blinding, the nausea screaming.

James held my hair back. He got me some water to clean my mouth out.

"I'm s-sorry," I whimpered. The look on his face was unintelligible; typical Admiral Norrington in thought. He leant down and kissed me carefully.

"I'm the one who should be sorry," he said quietly. He stroked a strand of my hair from my eyes. "Good god," he sighed, shaking his head. "We were all so afraid. You were unconscious for a very long time."

"How long?"

"Three days," he said, jaw setting in angst. I blinked, non-comprehending.

"That long?"

He nodded. "But you've lasted this long-" he broke off abruptly at the terrified look on my face. "I'll take care of you. I _promise."_

"Is…" I paused, not knowing how to broach it. "Is he here?"

For a moment, James looked lost. Then a shadow passed his face. A shadow cut from the sting of rivalry.

"No, Elizabeth. You know he isn't. Come," he lifted me up. I loathed my dependency on him as I leant into his grasp.

As ever, it was too tight.

That night, the pain came worse than ever. I screamed like a dying thing as my head was crushed, mercilessly and without any hint of letting up. James got up, fetched ice, but eternity stalked past before it was pressed to my forehead. By that point, the physician was there too. He stabbed some strange concoction into my arm and I swam in a half-trance. He and James stood in the soft orange hallway light, murmuring in low, hopeless voices.

"There's no other way."

"Mr Arnold…you cannot…"

"I'm telling you there is _no other way_."

"Her heart would break!"

I moaned softly, trying to hear the physician's final response.

"Her heart or her body. Break what you will."

2


	10. Foulest rum

Chapter Ten- Foulest rum

When I next gained consciousness, it was in James' arms once more. He was sat against the bed rest, staring at the opposite wall unseeingly. Scattered around the bed were…boxes?

"Why are there boxes?" I blurted, despite not wanting him to know I was awake. He jumped a little, then looked down at me. His eyes stank with deceit.

"Spring cleaning," he tried, voice hoarse.

I took in my surroundings in greater detail this time. I saw much of the furniture was gone. A patch of clumpy dust sat where the wardrobe had once been, and a dark stain where the wallpaper hadn't been bleached by sunlight now took the mirror's place.

"What's happening?" I whispered, frozen. James cleared his throat subconsciously.

"We, ah…Elizabeth…" he twisted my fingers into his, my hand drowned beneath his own. "Elizabeth, I…I love you. And- and you know that means I want the best for you, so-" he caught himself, squeezing his eyes tightly shut for a moment.

"Please tell me," I said in a small voice.

"So, I spoke with the physician, and he thought it best, considering your condition, to…." again he stopped, not knowing how to proceed. A sudden gust blew the bedroom window open, rippling the linen white curtains. It was a fresh sort of air, the kind after it had been raining.

James reached over to the bedside table. On it was a tray, the poppy patterned one that Maria served our tea on.

But no tea stood on it now.

Instead there was a pair of tall, thin bottles, each one with corners that were too angular, too sharp. I could not see the contents; the glass had a very deep, almost black copper hue to it. I peered closer. Yes, past the black was a garish, bloody undertone. It swam viscously as James picked one up. Instinctively, I tried to lean away. But James kept an unusually firm grip on me.

"The physician left it. Medicine," he coughed shortly.

"I don't-" I stammered, as he unscrewed the lid.

"We're leaving, Elizabeth. This time next week we will be in London. Mr Arnolds says it will help your condition."

"N-no," I whispered, not understanding. "We can't-"

"There are specialist doctors there, my love. They can help you get better." Already he had the lid off. The smell that immediately emanated was acidicly rancid; overpowering to the point that my head began to swim.

"But Will! We can't go, we m-mustn't!" I could feel my eyes welling up in fear.

"You won't see him again," James murmured, not meeting my eye. He took a teaspoon from the tray. His tight hold on my waist was relentless, and he poured out some of the bottle's foul liquid. As I had guessed, it was a deep shade of red. I felt woozy at the smell…it was familiar…and then I realised.

A sedative.

Like the one the physician had stabbed me with last night.

Immediately, I began to struggle. Struggle for all I was worth; every last ounce of strength I had left in my body. James was caught by surprise, but fifteen years of navy training meant he soon had the situation in hand. His face, to hide the pain it caused him, was concealed beneath an emotionless mask.

I kicked.

I pinched, I clawed, I pulled.

"Elizabeth-" he gasped, as I wielded a particularly nasty dig into his abdomen. "It's for the best-"

I shook my head violently, keeping my mouth firmly shut. A jerk of my knee managed to knock the spoon's contents flying.

In the second that I looked at it in surprise, I let my defences slip. James pressed me onto my back, pinning my arms. It was a move he used countless times with pirates. I was completely paralysed.

"No-" I gasped. James was already refilling the spoon. "James, please-" but I quickly had to jam my mouth shut. I hoped the tears of terror seeping from my eyes were enough.

"I just want you to be better again," he said softly. He was crying too. "I love you. Heaven knows only how much."

He pushed the spoon against my lips and covered my nose with his hand, cutting off breath. My lungs writhed in agony as I fought pointlessly against my pinned arms.

I couldn't help it. I gasped, and he was quick to pour the liquid down my throat. He allowed me to sit up, and I doubled over, coughing and spitting onto the pillow. But it was too late. I screamed out a sob as my vision clouded blackly at the edges. I was too weak to even fight off his lingering kisses.

My hearing was last to go.

"Forgive me, God forgive me. Sleep…sleep my beautiful angel…"


	11. Prison ship

A/N: SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO sorry that I haven't updated in....god knows how long :S I have suddenly rediscovered my zest for james and POTC in general, and remembered this story! Just a little drabble crappy piece to get me going again, but hopefully more will follow ;)

"James, let me go."

He stood with his back to me, shrouded in pale dusk that wrapped her fingers through the window. I felt strangled as the night encroached, all ways out slashed and barred to me. The sun was dipping low over the sea, desperate rays drowning beneath the surface. Again, I struggled at the bond that held me in place. The ship's hull rattled ghoulishly beneath us. James turned, his face coming into the light of the oil lamp. It aged him, and I saw the man he would one day become. His face was creased deeply by the oily light, and my mind stuttered with images of a hunched, greying Admiral; a man dried up and withered with decades of sea salt.

"The ship cannot turn back now," he said softly, eyes not meeting mine. I slammed my head back into the pillow, chewing at my lips. They were bloody already…I had been doing it in sleep…

"We'll be at port within a week or so-" he paused to rub a subconscious finger over his pistol "-accommodation has been secured, until we can decide on a more permanent residence-"

"_No, NO!"_

"-And of course your treatment will continue as soon as we make port."

He had reached the bedside now. A hand met my screams of protest, and more sedative was poured down my throat. Burning, like strong liqueur taken in too large a quantity, it overwhelmed my senses. I didn't quite see anymore. Nevertheless, my coughing reflexes were perfectly apt, and a large quantity was expelled sluggishly down my chin.

"Y-you're evil," I choked on my puckered lips. "I'll kill you."

Throughout the fall into darkness, the pain in his eyes remained. His green gaze hovered before my dying vision, snuffing out my final string of consciousness. Like a phosphorescent thread, it faded into nothing.


	12. Blessed we are

"It was your sixteenth birthday, I recall…your dress caught the light of the chandelier above so beautifully; I confess I was momentarily stunned that I had never noticed how beautiful you'd grown until then."

I was conscious, but too afraid to open my eyes for what I would find, and instead continued to pretend to be under the influence of the sedative. James, I presumed, sat near me, his hand tenderly combing the wisps of hair from my face. He spoke half to himself, contemplative and morose.

"And then, when I asked you for our usual customary dance…your smile was that of a woman's, not the girl I'd known a day before. I saw the grace you'd developed, the poise." He sighed, moving his hand from my hair to entwine in my pallid chilly fingers. I was careful to keep them limp and devoid of movement. "You laughed at my jokes that night, as ever," James continued. "Do you remember the story I told you, the one of that absurd young marine who was chased by the pig off Hutchinson's farm? You smiled so merrily at that. You put your head on my shoulder, just as you always did, but it was different…_so different._" His breath caught, and I thought I detected an uncertain shudder to his voice as he continued, broken with dry pain. "You were just a girl, just a girl, yet you had no idea that all eyes in that room were dancing around _you_, Elizabeth. And at the end of the night, when you kissed my cheek goodbye…your sweet lips…I thought the room would melt. How could I have known how to respond to your farewell? You asked to go out riding the next day with me, a picnic in the Orange Groves down by Santa Maria."

My heartbeat picked up a pace as sunlit memories crowded into my brain, each scented with the sweet fruit from that trip to Santa Maria. I'd been a fool, splashing water at him, letting him kiss my nose when I was sleepy. Yet he'd been my brother back then; a trusted friend with whom I could confide all in.

"We sat beneath those trees for hours," James whispered hoarsely. "You took your shoes off, said you wanted to feel the sand…feel it properly. A girl, God, just a silly little girl."

Droplets fell onto our entwined hands. He cried softly, thinking there was no audience to his bitter pain. My chest lurched, and I knew I could hide no longer. I tightened my grasp around his fingers.

"E-Elizabeth?"

"I'm here. I've been awake a while," I whispered. His face was crippled with agonised concern, and he dropped to his knees beside the bed. He touched a trembling finger to my cheek, tracing its outline.

"Forgive me," he said softly, the tears flowing freely this time. His face crumpled like a child's, and raw suffering was suddenly evident in his green gaze. Unable to process the sight of him before me like this, unable to even absorb my surroundings properly, I cried out. I sat up and pulled him to me in a way that can only be described as fervently instinctive, as though it were unnatural for us not to be joined. He was so warm, so perfectly fitted amongst my arms and neck. Our noses touched, and, as he had done in Santa Maria, he kissed the tip of mine very gently. "I couldn't do it," he whispered, shaking his head over and over. "We…we hit a reef. The one by Blackling Cove…I requested that we were brought back."

Yes, the feel of the bed beneath me was familiar. The light from the window had shone on me most of my life. He'd brought us back. _Home, home. _

"But the doctors in London..?"

James shook his head, again the tears wracking his voice. "Your heart belongs here, with the sun." His hand slipped down and laid on my chest. There was a pounding in my head as I processed what this meant.

"You do love me." I could see it now. Clear, clearer than the rock pools in the bay below. Bluer than those little pools of water, purer too, perhaps more akin to a high mountain spring.

"Only you…" he breathed. "All I live for is you, Elizabeth, can you understand? You are more blessed than-"

I placed a finger to his lips, letting the liquid from his eyes trail over it. "More blessed than the sea," I finished for him. Our sights met in new understanding.

This time, as the lacings of my dress fell away, it was with quiet bliss. No longer pain.


	13. Hide behind your drink

He slept for a while afterward, a contented smile vaguely settled behind his slumbering features. I watched him for sometime, my head growing ever more clearer, my thoughts sharpening from their previous blurred fragments. A chill descended upon me slowly as I stared at the man sleeping a foot from me. I felt sick; rancid all over. Shakily, and careful not to disturb his blissful ignorance, I slipped my feet to the floor. The carpet caressed my cold toes as I padded to the door. Physically, I felt my strength shimmering through every limb, new and bursting with renewed enthusiasm; nothing like my faded self from the past weeks. Catching my face in the mirror, my thoughts were confirmed. Subtle hints of rose were beginning to take up their old hue in my cheeks, my eyes reflecting the light again; spangles of hazel glinting in my stare. But their glittering did very little, if anything, to mask their coldness. I breathed raggedly, looking away, the age-old misery settling in the pit of my stomach.

I wandered numbly through the hall, watching the idle dust motes as the sun lit them from behind. The air was cool and still, and far off, perhaps at the end of the garden, a bird emitted a pondering song. I reached the end of the hall, finding myself faced with the door to James' study. An urge, amidst my dulled emotions, grasped me. I had a sudden desire to pore over maps and trace their familiar aged parchment; pretend I was planning a voyage to the end of the earth, with just the keening wind for company. Freedom.

I pushed the door open and blinked dimly around the mahogany-laced walls. It was spacious and musty, and I noticed a distinctly prominent smell of Whisky. Several bottles lay upon a nearby shelf, three of them bled dry of their contents. I sat down in James' large chair by the desk, feeling tiny. I stared up at the bottles again, in idle curiosity. Clearly he had not handled my illness well….

Something white sat beneath the farthest bottle. In fact, it was several _somethings. _A wad of envelopes, bound in secretive haste, were half hidden by the whisky. Instinctively and not quite understanding my bored motives, I reached for them.

_Mrs Norrington_

_Mrs Elizabeth Norrington_

_Elizabeth _

My name. My name scrawled upon every envelope. The looping E brought a sob to my throat, and I dropped them to the floor, sinking back into the chair. _Will had been writing all this time. _Shuddering, I knelt to pick them all up, shakily caressing them in my lap. I felt his warmth, his desperation. I saw that every letter had been slit open, and agonised fury at my husband welled up in my eyes.

I read them, losing count after I'd opened the fifteenth.

_I love you…I love you….always and forever, I will love you, _he had signed every one in tender misery. My desolate tears smeared his words.

I opened the final one, dated only three days ago.

_Run away with me. _


	14. Sealed with a loving kiss

In a cell, a mile from where his sweetly beloved sat weeping, William Turner lay on a pile of rotten straw. Acrid smells of vomit and week old excrement filled the Fort's gaol, but he had learnt to switch off from it. One by one, his companions from his merchant vessel had disappeared to the gallows, stolen away at dawn by marines in bright cherry red, donning falsely sombre expressions. Will was grimly curious as to why he was left, staring up at the dripping grey ceiling, for hours on end. There had been no real explanation for his crew's arrest, conducted at midnight off the stormy cove of St Martin, but he could well guess why.

_Commodore _Norrington; he could think of a man no less deserving of the title than he. It was the _Commodore, _no doubt, who had ordered his capture, who left him curled in the dark as rain seeped through the gaol brickwork, chilling him to the core. And every week, Will would write to her. To the one he loved. He doubted his entreaties for rescue were received, yet there was some comfort to be gained from penning her name, smoothing the parchment intended for _her. _Perhaps some day she would find them, when he was dead and gone. A tear slipped down his grime-laden cheek as he pictured her, old yet impossibly lovely as ever, musing over the past. He'd be half-forgotten to her, perhaps; a distant, childish memory.

"I love-" He could not utter the words, the pain that she would never hear them being too great a force to contend with. He curled in on himself, praying for the end to come quickly.

"Letter for one Mr Turner," said a gruff voice. Will looked up through the prison of his arms, eyeing warily the heavyset man by the cell door. An envelope of creamy vellum was tossed through the cold bars, and landed amongst the dirt and sodden straw. The man heaved himself away, and Will sat staring for a few long moments. The letter was small and light, seeming to shrink away from its offending surroundings. Tentatively, Will reached for it, careful not to smudge the fresh ink that formed his name. He cradled it closely, knowing her hand as he knew his own. Warmth flooded his chest, golden, brilliant rays of sun, as he opened it.

_Yes. I will come tonight. My love, there is little time, but know that I care for you more than the stars…I send a kiss; take it, for it is yours. No other has ever held my affection. _

*

I sat, stony faced, by the window. I watched the messenger gallop off, and prayed with all my might that Will would soon be reading those words. Seething hatred burnt me up for the man who had now woken, and was whistling merrily in the kitchen, inevitably brewing tea and completely oblivious to my heinous discovery. I had replaced Will's letters back behind the empty whisky bottles. I knew that tonight, James must sleep as he had never slept before; like the dead, and no shouting marine must wake him as Will and I made our escape.

He came through to the living room where I sat, bearing a tray of steaming tea and stupidly ceremonious porcelain. Using every deceitful fibre I possessed, I forced my lips into a painfully joyous smile, nearly biting my lip and drawing blood at the hatred that flooded through me.

"Elizabeth," he gushed warmly, innately drawn to me and clasping my hand happily. Evidently, the events of the previous night had caused him to shrug off any cautiousness in showing affection to me. He placed a lingering kiss on my lips, and I wanted to scream, knowing that what the coming night held was far worse.

A/N: Very sexxxyyyyy scene coming up guys. You have been warned ;)


	15. Helpless lullaby

Darkness had fallen. James was in his study, presumably finishing up one report or another. I paced our room impatiently, my heart stammering wildly and sweat collecting on my forehead. The whole business wasn't going quickly enough; we needed at least three hours of darkness if we were going to get clear of the harbour and into open water, and that was _after _I'd finished with James. Once more, I checked my bag beneath the bed; pistol, shot, powder, compass (James' old one), map…

I looked at the clock. Ten past midnight already! I screamed silently in frustration, running a distracted hand through my hair. It had to be now. _Now, or live and die this way, forever waking up to see a man of stone. _

I turned to the mirror, staring at my nightdress. I pulled the neckline a little lower,; invitingly. I brushed my hair out over my shoulders and let the golden strands frame my face in careless abandon, before turning sideways and shooting my reflection a sidelong, seductive smile. The false sight made me shudder, and the urge to smash my wretched glass face was overwhelming. I clenched my fist, breathing agitatedly. Finally, I reached for my scent bottle. Rose and lavender oil was rubbed into the bend of my elbow, the hollow of my neck. It shimmered wetly in the amber light of the flickering nearby lamp. My eyes were set; black hollows. _Now, or live and die this way. _

I creaked the bedroom door open. The hallway was dark and ominous, lit only by the snaking gleam from beneath his study door. I padded towards it. I knocked.

"Yes?" James sounded tired; somewhat irked at being interrupted, a mood that would be tricky to work with. He would be sceptical, perhaps even suspicious. I slipped inside, my face against the door as I closed it. I could feel his confused air before I even looked around.

"Elizabeth? Is something the matter?" he asked softly. I turned slowly, backed fearfully against the door. He looked up at me, weary and puzzled.

"You…you didn't come to bed," I said stiltedly. "I just wondered…" I waved a pointless hand. Wondered what, exactly?

"Yes, I'm sorry darling. Reports," he said wretchedly, gesturing to the inane clutter that littered his desk in its frighteningly overwhelming volume. "I don't expect to be retiring for a while."

I pulled up a chair and sat, uninvited. He continued to peruse my countenance in obviously deepening puzzlement. "I can't sleep," I whispered haltingly.

"Bad dream?" he asked, now beginning to look annoyed. Changing tact, I met his gaze squarely.

"No," I breathed. I seized his hand impulsively, my fingers entwining languorously in his. "I think I…I need…" I broke off, my breath hitched in feigned desperation. James' brow furrowed.

"Elizabeth, sweetheart…you should rest. You are still recovering." But there was a note of brazen, heated desire in his tone, roughening the edges of his voice; small, but enough to work with.

"But last night, you-"

"Yes, so you must rest, I think…_Elizabeth_, _really_!"

I had leant across the desk, my breath growing shorter all the while, and grasped at his collar. My hands fumbled pathetically with the stupid golden buttons. James stared, torn between bewilderment and unhidden longing.

"_Please, _James."

"Elizabeth, you cannot-"

"James, _I need you!" _My last words burst out with keening desperation, and a real sob rose in my throat. _I was running out of time. _"I can't sleep, I can't-" I pushed my lips forcefully onto his. He pushed me away, gasping, his gaze unfocussed. I noticed how much heavier his breathing had become. Just a little more, a little final push…

"Give me your hands," I whispered, my voice slow and lilting, my face an inch from his. The room's atmosphere grew heavy and swollen, and I became opium. "James, my James…"

"Elizabeth," he choked, his shaking hand running slowly and lasciviously down my cheek.

"Come with me," I entreated gently, my own hand snaking across his throat. It fluctuated with the shallow uncertainness of his breath.

A response rose within me that I had not planned for. Seeing him there, solid yet oh so helpless in that shimmering study…I gasped softly against his mouth and pulled back suddenly. I fell back against the bookcase. We were motionless for a brief second, and yet for eternity…his hands were clamped rigidly in the position I had left them in. I sank against the wall, blinking and unable to clear my head.

He began to rise, his gaze never leaving mine. Entirely transfixed. _Hypnotised._

And then, like a cobra, he moved dizzyingly fast, and I could not move as his body came against my own. His smell, the warmth, the entirely airless darkness…

_Too soon, too soon..._

I felt the last remnants of control sliding from my sweat-slicked palms. Ferociously, I clasped back at them, and was able to maintain a slither of preserve. I pushed against his chest, but he had forgotten everything around him. His kisses were starving, ardently searching for the affection I had long withheld from him.

"Elizabeth…my angel, my beautiful darling," he murmured feverishly into my hair. I was able to duck between a gap in his arms. He groaned at the loss of my pressure against him, and I darted from the room. "No…" I heard his dim plea as I left the door hanging half open.

"Out here," I whispered.

He stepped from the room, staring at my silhouette against the brilliant moonlight of the hall window. Silver flooded the space between us, reflecting in his confused and desperate eyes. I smiled, very slightly, and took slow steps back towards our bedroom. James leant against the study door, watching me in longing adoration.

Guilt, a tiny drop in an ocean of betrayed hurt.

_A girl, twelve, curly brown ringlets. A man, shining gold brocade…_

"_We'll always be friends, James? Forever?" _

"_Until I have no breath in my body." _

No, NO! It was Will, it had always been Will. My heart; my reason for waking every morning.

"Come…" I whisper to my husband.

He follows, and I have all power now.

Within the bedroom, the windows were thrown wide, and balmy salt air billowed in. It caressed every part of me, and I stood letting my nightdress ripple in the wind. It caught around the contours of my body, and James sank hopelessly against me. I stroked his hair in absent detachment; more peaceful than before. Our heads tilted to kiss, and soon his lips fell lower. I let myself go, falling into a dance that I had no choice over, and smiled into his hair. His hands, warm and calloused with scars, ran warmly up my nightdress. He was still kissing me.

"Ah-" his lips reached a place I hadn't predicted. I giggled as he pushed me fervently down onto the bed. Cool silk sank around me.

"Sh sh…" he murmured, smiling and looking up at me. His eyes shone with warmth and love, an unearthly shade of green that glowed in the night.

"Do it again," I whispered. And again, he did. I gasped, laughing and trying to pull away. He smirked gently and moved up, kissing my stomach, my breasts. Soon his gaze was inches from mine, tender and filled with careful joy.

"Anything. Tonight I will give you anything," he sighed happily, raining ever more kisses onto my lips. They searched hungrily along my jawline, tasting the soft skin they found there. "Like roses…" he muttered, slowly relishing the texture. I lay still, forgetting time; entranced. Then he traced my face carefully, examining every tiny detail. Unaware of precisely why, I find myself doing the same to his.

A small scar just below the left ear; a nick from a bullet that just skimmed past…a fresher mark above the lip, from a Spanish cutlass, he says…

So many times she had encountered him, had Death, that it was inevitable her tattoo would eventually drum itself into his skin. And yet, huddled against him, there was no doubting the life…_the warm glow of life…_his heartbeat thrummed, eternally strong and sure, against my own.

My nightdress was curled in with the rest of his clothes beside the bed in a melee of blue, gold and white. The colours were innately complimentary of one another, effortlessly blending into a pleasant swimming haze.

"Elizabeth…." His groan came in surprised roughness as I reached downwards and grasped at him. Perfectly fitted in my palm, with the same complimentary feeling that the nearby colours had. Skin slicked against skin, he shook, his head buried in my neck. "I don't…" he pressed downwards, unable to finish his sentence as true madness claimed him. I laughed softly, teasing him carefully. His hand was clenched white; entirely helpless. I brought my hand away quickly, eliciting a confused moan from my husband. "Please, Elizabeth…"

But then his voice changed, and his gaze grew in clarity, regaining the sharpness of its trademark military discipline. Swiftly, and before I could inhale a moment of the still air, his lips had crushed themselves to mine with confident coolness; control was his infinitely in a second, and I felt his hands push my legs apart with practised ease. He sighed unevenly as he pushed in roughly, pinning me completely without heed. I felt my ribcage contract at the limited space, and it seemed as though something would break as he pushed in again. I tried to speak, but his lips were merciless; angry even…Deep down, I sensed he knew something. He was angry, angry at being tricked; at being torn from his study like a hypnotised wraith. His pace quickened, driven by the furious animal desire that seems to hold all men by the throat, clawing at my body in devouring need. His breath suddenly turned sharp in my ear, and the kissing stopped. All was still for a moment of miserable tension, before he collapsed in shuddering weariness.

"Elizabeth," he mumbled, his tone non-descript.

"Mm?"

"So-" he yawned "-so beautiful…"

He still had me held down, and I waited with mounting, nervous impatience for him to move. He remained still, playing absently with a tendril of my hair, admiring how moonlight worked her shadows around my face.

"You bewitched me," he chuckled gently, kissing my nose as he had done when I was younger. "Like a little fairy…" he tickled the skin of my throat, searching me with a disturbingly penetrative gaze. I gulped, and he sensed it beneath his touch. "What are you pondering, I wonder?"

"N-nothing."

"Indeed…" he frowned seriously and sat up. I shivered at the loss of his warm body against mine; the night air chilled the feverish sweat upon both of us. He watched me in the darkness, every move of my bare body touched by his scrutinising gaze. I brought my hands up to cover myself, suddenly filled with an excruciating self-consciousness.

"No, don't-" he pulled my hand away carefully. "Every time, you always…" he trailed off sadly. "You're perfect, Elizabeth."

"I'm tired," I said quickly, reaching down for my nightdress, only to find his hand gently holding me back.

"Sleep without it. The covers are warm enough." He pressed me into the pillows, pausing to cast an examining, admiring eye over me once more, and then sank in beside me. Beneath the dampened sheets, he held me closely, his eyes gradually falling shut. With the absence of maddened desire, such intense proximity set me about shivering. Every fluctuation of his breath, every subtle shift of his body…and his heart, murmuring against my breasts. Even our legs were entwined, and his warm, heady scent -something exotic mixed in with sword polish- was making my mind spin.

_The tapping of the clock in the hall…so warm here, safe…the clock in the hall…why…fight? _

I started, eyes blinking madly. Shaking off my half sleep, I stared at my husband, noticing his significantly slackened grip.

_Easy, easy…_his fingers, prised from my shoulder…_slowly…_my hair from beneath his pillow…

I was away. Sitting up stiffly, I rubbed out the indentations his passionate embrace had made all over my body. James sighed a little louder, but did not wake. His face had a troubled expression, and I wondered what he dreamt.

The window was still open, and the moonlit ocean called to me softly. A slow, lazy grin spread across my lips as my feet swung to the floor.

"_Bring me that horizon," _I whispered.


	16. A heated exit

Maria could not sleep. The Norringtons' young housemaid had found it difficult to settle to the restless winds, so common to the Caribbean seas, ever since she had moved from her comfortable mainland town in Barbados. They reminded her of "hauntin", as her mother had put it, a word often slipping into ghostly bedtime stories when Maria, a naughty six year old at the time, had refused to lie still and sleep. The moaning breeze that had gusted over the mud roof did indeed seem like a dead sailor's breath, as her mother had claimed it to be.

Tonight, Maria sat up in her narrow bed, attempting to make some headway on sewing the buttons back onto her master's uniform. They really did come away at a ridiculous rate, and though James had attempted to reattach them himself, the subsequent groans at pricked fingers had prompted Maria to rescue him from the meticulously fiddly task.

"Tis a woman's task anyway," muttered Maria in concentration. "Summin that new wife ought t' accustom herself to…" she let out a sharp hiss as the needle lodged itself beneath her thumbnail. Unable to prise it away without risking a significantly more painful injury, Maria rose to examine it beneath her spitting yellow oil lamp. The tiny tang of light did not help. Humming in idle irritation, she ascertained that a visit to the kitchen sink, and the light of the lamp there, would be necessary.

The downstairs hall was dark and still, the wind groaning ever more fervently overhead. Clutching her oil lamp to light the way, Maria clenched her jaw and tried to shake off her age-old superstitions.

"_Hear that wind, little Maria? Them be no wind…that be sailor from the high seas…him breathing, wanting to get you. Him reach out his fingers to get you, Maria…" _

Stupid, stupid, thought Maria, casting her mother's creeping voice from her mind. And yet…

The wind _was _softer, almost like a breath. Rhythmic. Human.

Maria turned slowly; almost subconsciously. A figure of white stared back out of the shadows, a figure with _deep black eyes, sailor's pit-like eyes, Maria! Him come to steal your breath, Maria! _

The young housemaid shrieked; a howling scream of gut wrenching pitch that made the air lurch. The figure screamed too, and two heartbeats were hammering loud enough to be perceptible to any passing human ear. Maria's grip on the oil lamp flinched sharply, sending liquid, flame, orange, red….covering the carpet….

"FIRE," sobbed Maria. "Oh sweet Jesus, the end, the _end!" _

Her cries mixed in with heavy footsteps upstairs, and an ashen-faced James came into view, already of the knowledge (on account of the empty bed) that his wife had gone.

"STOP HER!" he yelled, as the white figure darted through the spreading yellow canvas of flame, lithe and quick. James nearly fell down the stairs in his haste, his bare chest beginning to glisten in sweat from the growing heat (A/N: sorry, couldn't resist it haha). He reached the bottom of the stairs, and was obliged to help Maria up before she was engulfed. The growing blaze meant that little could be done for the sound of Elizabeth's diminishing footsteps down the front garden path.

Seeing the nearby flames, a passing marine was quickly at the scene. Eight brimming buckets of water later, and it grew apparent that the hallway carpet was beyond recovery. James collapsed on the doorstep, stupor-like, gazing limply at the first languid streaks of dawn to break the sky. All that remained of his wife was a fading, soft indentation in the dewy grass of her footprints.


	17. Other types of cage

Chapter 17

I was flying. Never before had I ran so lightly; so _quickly._ My hair rippled lazily behind me in the pre-dawn air, and the bag slung across my shoulders was weightless and perfectly snug where it curled beneath my arm. I was dressed in the clothes of a marine; smuggled from the barracks when the guards were fleetingly distracted by a particularly fearsome stray cat.

The fading stars twinkled vapidly down on me when I reached the fort gaol. A sleepy, bored young marine was slumped by the door. He stared at me in alarm.

"You're the-" Clunk. Thump. The butt of my pistol hit his head with delightfully pleasing accuracy, and after grabbing the ridiculously large set of cumbersome keys from his wrist, I stepped over his motionless form and hurried through the gate.

It clanged shut behind me. I was not prepared for the airlessness, and reeled back against the wall, choking. Dim orange light flickered from a lone sconce above my head, but aside from its greasy glow, the place lay in thick, intangible blackness. The stench was that of death, yet it seemed to have a life of its own. Stepping out to greet me, it squeezed down my throat and into my lungs. I wheezed uneasily, slowly beginning to detect other sounds of life.

"Hello there sweet'art."

"Let's…yeah…give the keys, the _keys!" _

I ignored the voices, and began to walk unsteadily down the row.

"Will?" His name hung quavering in the air.

There was a shuffling sound from the far end of the darkness.

"I knew you'd come." His reply was short, worn and laconic; the sound of swollen defeat. Two dull eyes caught the rays of the flaming sconce, and widened with sparkling recognition. I knelt against the bars, feeling his breath a foot or so from me, and wept silently for a moment.

And then, a flood of words.

"He kept the letters, I found them in the study, oh Will, my love, he's scum- a _liar-"_

All meaningless.

Instead, it was the warmth of his hand by my cheek that said all; the fearful hesitancy seemed to ask my permission, and I froze at the thought.

"It's still the same. Only my name changed, you _know _that."

He nodded dolefully, and I began to fumble through the keys.

They clanked loudly, and made me ever more aware of the oppressive silence between us.

"How have you…"

_How have you been? _The state of the place answered the question well enough. Again, the living smell seemed to settle herself beside me, voicing everything that Will felt meaningless to say. Yes, we missed each other. No need to say it aloud, surely?

_Surely, surely. Yes, naturally. _

And yet I still found myself avoiding his eye.

*

James paced quietly, his face puckered in anger and footsteps resonating with muted fury.

"I knew what she was doing," he muttered to Gillette, who sat quietly in the thick wooden chair, staring fixedly at the fraying carpet ends in order to avoid his superior's eye. The atmosphere in the Fort's office was sweating with angst, seeming to recoil from the Admiral's regular surges of silent seething. They washed over every few minutes, causing every living thing –and non living- to contract nervously. Gillette stood up, pushing his sticky hair back under his wig. Again, he addressed the miserable brown map on the desk. It was pitted in marks where James had attacked it with the pincer things (find out real name!) a little too enthusiastically; Olvira bay was obscured by a grim rip straight down the centre.

"We should start out here. Lt. Jacobs said they headed east after the _Sylph _was commandeered…Sir?"

James had moved over to the window, his hands and forehead pressed to the glass with a melancholic purposefulness.

"Perhaps we shouldn't…" he tapped at the latch. "She was like a bird. I kept her too close, didn't let her fly…"

Gillette blanched, recognising that characteristic loss of spirit that his comrade was painfully prone to in times of romantic failure.

"Might I be so bold as to remind you that this if your _wife _we are discussing, Sir. Not some idle poppet you have developed a vague, fleeting fancy for. A bird indeed; she is your _wife, _and she has gone gallivanting off with some…some…"

"Pirate? Blacksmith?" James finished for him wearily. Gillette heaved his shoulders dejectedly.

"Just give the order, Sir. I dare say we'll have her back by sunset," he said quietly. James waved a distracted hand, which Gillette took to mean yes. He gathered his hat and coat and left the office.


	18. Whisky's blindness

The sun's rays fell like jaundiced limbs into the musty office air. James' forehead was set; sweat-laced marble furrowed with bitterly warring principles.

"Love?" he wrapped clammy fingers around a glass of whisky, leaving imprints of angst. "Or duty?" His voice was one of resigned musing, to say the very least. The matter was out of his hands now, utterly. The _Dauntless _had given chase several foggy hours ago, after which time had passed in undulations; bursts of clarity and speed, quickly followed by a misty lull that seemed to drag the very air down with it.

He imagined them bringing her back, a swashbuckling mermaid; cotton britches clinging slickly to her skin. Her hair would be arranged in damp, snake-like tendrils around her face, and then her eyes…bright hazel lamps…they'd dazzle in-

"Oh fantastic anger," breathed James.

It would light up this chilly room. He rubbed his hands eagerly, imagining such perfect warmth. He could taste it. _Liquid gold. _

A sudden knock at the door, and the taste vanished into ash upon his tongue. "Enter," he muttered sullenly. A pounding headache reigned at the back of his skull.

"Sir." A fat pink marine. Framed in the doorway, he looked like a baby piglet; his mad, dancing black eyes were tiny and sunken, folds of fat hanging delicately over them. James motioned him in.

Yet still the marine remained, anxiously twisting his tongue over his lips. He looked a little sick.

"Ah, A-Admiral. A _fine_ afternoon, is it not?" He played for time, throwing every dice he could. Heaven forbid, should it land upon a six.

"Indeed," James replied slowly. He weighed the fat creature before him in a swift, calculated stare. Then, his back stiffened

"_She's here." _

He would've fallen, had the marine not darted forth, supporting his superior's elbow with a baffled anxiousness. "I don't q-quite think you understand…" the marine whispered, his tongue twisting even further. James was amused to see it made funny little ridges between his teeth.

"Tell me your name," he slurred lazily, stroking the neck of the whisky bottle. How pleasingly cool it felt.

"Partridge, but-"

"Bring her to me, Partridge. We're having strawberries for tea, freshly picked from the fields of Holland, no, that's tulips…" James trailed off sickly. He collapsed into a funny, angled pile against the window seat. "Oh _be dammed man. _Tell me."

"Lost," the marine stuttered desperately "I mean, the ship, Sir, she got lost…_was_ lost, if you'll pardon me-"

He got no other word out; a violent vomiting noise broke him off. Shaking and leaning away from the window, James clasped against the wall with a white, clammy hand_._

Slowly, ever so slowly, he fixed the marine with his longest of stares. 'Like a green, eternal tunnel' one of the Tortuga whores had called it, as they fell knee-deep into rapture several years ago.

"Sir?" squeaked the marine, visibly trembling now.

"I want a cutter prepared," James wheezed. "The smallest, fastest one of the water. Take it from whomever, I want her ready in ten min-"

"It was a _maelstrom, _Sir! I tell you, it'd be futile!"

A knife, glinting with fire from the sunset, landed a hair's breadth from the marine's collar. James pushed him roughly up against the wall, his deranged breath reeking of some maddened grief.

"She _will_ come home. Now prepare the cutter, _DAMN IT MAN!"_


End file.
